Do Not Resuscitate
by DiamondDaze
Summary: And again, he tried to forget that this is his future. HouseCameron.


**Title:** Do Not Resuscitate

**Author:** DiamondDaze

**Rating:** T (mild implied suicide)

**Pairing:** House/Cameron

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House.

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He stood outside the hospital room, gazing through the glass at the patient lying motionless on the starched white sheets. A pale tinge had already coloured the old man's face, giving him a ghostly appearance. There was no one there but a morose looking nurse who was solemnly removing the IV from the man's wrist. 

xxxx

House spent hours with his team, discussing what the old man could be afflicted with. A burly nurse from the man's nursing home had brought him in. She complained that he had been striking out at anyone who tried to help him, and even yelling irately at other residents for no apparent reason. She had brought him in because he had always been the epitome of friendliness, so this behaviour had been extremely out of character for him.

He suspected that it was schizophrenia, but no one really supported him on that since it only occurs once in a blue moon in males over 60. The nurse couldn't give much of a history, since the old man's relatives hadn't been to see him since first leaving him in her care.

For once, House actually decided to visit the patient himself, instead of sending one of the minions. Upon speaking to the old man, however, it soon became apparent that he did not have schizophrenia. For one, he spoke coherently, albeit repetitively. So that ruled out disorganised speech as a symptom.

He asked for the time, so House absentmindedly looked down at his watch and told him. He continued asking the old man more questions, but he didn't seem too interested in answering anything further. He was about to leave, his brain whirring with the new information, when Chris (or was it Craig?) asked, "What time is it?"

He twisted around at this and studied the old man carefully.

House said, "You just asked me that five minutes ago."

The old man looked away from him, a frown on his face. House left the room silently, a frown on his face as well.

Going back to the conference room, he entered to see only Cameron sitting at the table, poring over some enormous textbook. His eyes lingered on her, slightly longer than necessary, before he went over to the kitchenette to make a coffee for himself.

On a whim, he turned his head and said, "Do you want one?"

Her head whipped up at this, and she looked at him for a second before nodding and saying, "Black, two sugars."

He turned back to the sink and frowned slightly once again. He never knew she drank her coffee black.

Carrying her mug to her, he set it in front of her giant textbook, and experienced a fleeting arrhythmia as she smiled up at him gratefully.

Fetching his mug from the sink as well, he sat down on the chair closest to the kitchenette and sipped his coffee. As the warm liquid slid down his throat, his thoughts returned to the old man.

He considered everything from depression to tumours. Cameron finally gave up on the textbook and shoved it aside, taking a long drink of her coffee instead. Suddenly, both his and Cameron's pager went off simultaneously. Cameron shot him a glance before pulling hers from where it was usually hooked on her pants.

House looked at his, before standing up hastily and rushing to the patient's room, Cameron at his side.

When they got there, he saw two nurses standing awkwardly near the bed as the old man talked to thin air. Cameron found out from one of the nurses that he seemed to think he was conversing with his late wife.

It was in that moment that House put it together. Dementia. Judging by the onset of hallucinations, he ascertained that the old man had just transitioned from the early stage to the intermediate stage.

He wondered why it took him so long to figure it out. Maybe he should have blamed Cameron for wearing that low cut cherry red top to work that day.

xxxx

He stepped into the room silently, sliding the door closed. The old man watched him suspiciously from the bed, as he limped nearer. It was time to deliver the news.

For a second he wondered why he was there. He could have just as easily forced Chase to do it.

He stood a few feet away from the man, and looked at the ground. After a few minutes, he looked up, and said, "You have stage two dementia. You're going to need around the clock care from a nurse, and your condition is likely to decline rapidly in the next few years."

The old man (Charles? That could be it) looks at House jadedly. As if he was expecting this. As if he wanted this.

"Young man," he begins, and House raised an eyebrow at him. He was certainly not a young man.

"Do you know what my life is like? Let me tell you what a day consists of in my life. I am woken up by a nurse, who immediately begins to pull me around forcefully and talk to me condescendingly, readying my clothes and then dragging me out into the common room for breakfast. I look forward to a breakfast of tasteless toast, with flavourless margarine spread on it and a cup of water," he said sadly.

"I have eaten the same thing everyday for ten years, and I have done the same things everyday. Watch television, sleep, and eat. That is the extent of my day. I haven't had a single visitor, and the other residents ignore me," he continued. "So I am almost grateful to be told that soon I will be oblivious to the world. What I am not grateful for is how long it will take."

House tapped his cane against his shoe. The old man's story was beginning to slightly scare him. The old man's story is his future.

Charles resumed his speech, saying, "I want to sign one of those forms that stops you from helping me if I happen to have a heart attack or something."

His eyes locked with Charles and he saw determination in the other man's bright green eyes. He told him that it was unlikely that he would have a heart attack before his discharge in a few days.

He sighs, and says that he wants to sign it anyway, just in case. He mutters something but you don't catch it.

A few days later, he goes into anaphylactic shock and passes.

Cuddy flapped about the hospital angrily, asking anyone and everyone how the man could have been given peanuts, when his file specifically stated that he had severe allergies to them.

House knew he did it himself, but he decided not tell anyone this.

No one would ever suppose that an innocent old man would have any reason or motive to do anything like this intentionally. After all, he hadn't told anyone else what he had told House.

Chase and Foreman were oblivious, if not plain apathetic. Only Cameron seemed to care but House was sure she didn't know exactly what had happened.

And again, he tried to forget that this is his future.

xxxx

He limped out of the hospital and into the car park. A few cars down from his car was Cameron, putting her satchel in the passenger seat before walking around the driver's side.

Like every other time he saw her, he was mesmerised by her beauty. But he wouldn't admit to anything beyond that.

He moved up behind her, and she whirled around quickly, her left hand flying up to her chest, "God, House!"

He doesn't answer, but simply places his left hand on her waist and pulls her close to him. He slams his lips down on hers, kissing her furiously.

They break apart and she looks up at him, a baffled expression in her eyes. A smirk appears on his lips and he leans down to kiss her again.

He will not let it be his future.

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